The Walking Dead: Hetalia Style!
by Zombie-Elf
Summary: This is what happens when two Hetalia fangirls watch a Walking Dead marathon. Rated M for language, gore, yaoiness, and overall crack.


(Okay, those of you that follow me know me best for my dramas and over all angsty stories. This is my first attempt at a comedy, so constructive criticism is welcome, flames, not so much.)

"What's the difference between semes and ukes?" Sherrif's deputy Alfred F. Jones AKA America asked as he took another huge bite of a burger from the front of his squad car.

"Well, often the seme has to lay the uke out on their back and proceed to gently... Wait... WHY THE HELL ARE YOU MY PARTNER?" The blonde in the passenger seat yelled at him in a think French accent.

The other ignored him. "Iggy and I had this bigass fight before I left the house today, in front of Sealand. He said I was lazy and that the epic burgers I eat were making me fat. I would never say such mean things to him, even though he is a like a billion times less heroic than me and can't cook for shit.."

"Well, if you're having such a hard time with him, you could always let me have him." France was about to say more, but he was cut off by a voice on the police scanner. "So yeah, two annoying douce bags have stolen a car and stuff, we need all units."

"Dude! Totally time to go be a hero!" America slammed on the gas before France had a second to respond and sped off down the road.

So they arrived where the police had converged and they're laying out a spike strip. "WHY THE HELL AM I EVEN A COP?" France found himself shouting as he stood behind the squad car with a gun. "I'm a lover, not a fighter! And this uniform is so not sexy! It doesn't flatter my figure at all!"

"Dude, we're totally gonna end up on Cops or something!" America said with his goofy laugh as the stolen car hit the spike strip and rolled over and over and over and over. "Dude, there is no way in hell those guys survived that! Ha ha ha ha!"

Or not...

Even as he was laughing, the two guys who were dressed up as aliens for some reason crawled out of the wreckage and opened fire on America and France. The pair returned fire. America took a bullet in the chest and fell to the ground. "Sacre bleu!" France cried and continued to fire, rather ineffectually.

"Hey, I'm a hero! And my heroic bullet proof vest totally protected me!" America got back up and quickly dispatched both shooters. "See?" He said turning back to France. "All it takes is to be as badass as me and everything would be okay? Ha ha ha ha-" But his laugh was cut off as a third shooter fired and caught him in a spot the vest didn't potect. America went down, and France opened fire, actually hitting the man this time. "America! Mon ami! Don't die!"

...

An extremly blurry France stood above America in the hospital. He was holding a vase of roses. "Well, mon ami, I was originally planning to use this in a bathing scene, but the cheep writers hate me and the character I'm based off, so I'm giving it to you. Get well soon or something."

...

"Where the hell did you get that vase, France? Did the Beverly Hill-billies have a yard sale?" America laughed with some effort. When he got no reply, he sat up as best he could and looked around. Where the hell did France go? "France, you takin a leak?" He called. Still no answer. He got up, and unlike his television counterpart, didn't fall over and call for a nurse, because hell, let's face it. He's America! Fuck yeah!

He left the room, and was briefly halted by a stretcher some idiot had left in front of the door. But hey, no big deal. He's the hero right? The first thing he noticed what how damn quiet everything was, and the fact that nobody seemed to be around. "Okay, weird." He said to himself. At the end of the hall, amidst much blood and bullet holes was a set of double doors, held shut by a chain. Spray-painted on the doors were the words "Don't Open, Dead Inside Ya Moron." America looked at the door, then laughed. "Ha ha ha ha ha! The dead can't hurt anyone! Much less me!" He grabbed the door and pulled it open with his stupid strength, and at once his blood ran cold.

"HOLY SHIT, ZOMBIES!" He slammed the door shut and at once began to pile anything and everything he could find infront of it before taking off down the hall. "Zombies! Freaking zombies!" He screamed as he bolted out the door., cursing himself for ever watching horror movies. When he made it outside, he had to promptly turn his head and throw up at the sight of countless bodies spread before him.

He kept walking, trying to ignore the destruction around him. Until he came across a bicycle with a decrepit looking zombie next to it. "Rawr!" Said the zombie, to which America replied with "Ew." and road down the street until he came to the house he shared with England and Sealand.

"England! Sealand!" He called but got no answer. He quite litterally tore the house apart, but only found that clothes and photographs were missing. A little put out, he went and sat on the front steps, where after a moment, he got really excited when he saw someone walking up to him and began to wave like a damn fool, only to feel a sharp pain in the back of his head and a young boy's voice. "Turkey! Turkey! I got him!"

America's vision swam as a man in a mask ran up and capped the dude that had been shambling towards him. Just fucking capped him! Right there! So not cool! But he was too groggy to make himself care at the moment. "Sealand... That really fucking hurt..." He groaned dizzily.

"What did he say?" The masked man asked the boy. "I thought I heard him say something."

"He called me Sealand."

"Oh hell, TRNC, you know zombies can't talk!" He turned to America "Hey, how did you get hurt? Answer me or I'll kill you!"

But America was already in la-la land.


End file.
